| When
are you going to come down? |
| When
are you going to land? |
| I
should have stayed on the farm, |
| I
should have listened to my old man. |
|
| You
know you can't hold me forever, |
| I
didn't sign up with you. |
| I'm
not a present for your friends to open, |
| This
boy's too young to be singing the blues. |
|
| So
goodbye yellow brick road, |
| Where
the dogs of society howl. |
| You
can't plant me in your penthouse, |
| I'm
going back to my plough. |
|
| Back
to the howling old owl in the woods, |
| Hunting
the horny back toad. |
| Oh
I've finally decided my future lies |
| Beyond
the yellow brick road |
|
| What
do you think you'll do then? |
| I
bet that'll shoot down your plane. |
| It'll
take you a couple of vodka and tonics |
| To
set you on your feet again |
|
| Maybe
you'll get a replacement, |
| There's
plenty like me to be found. |
| Mongrels,
who ain't got a penny, |
| Sniffing
for tid-bits like you on the ground |
